POEM: Falling apart in the bathroom stall

BY HANNA ALI

“If you are unwanted, then you are still alive”
Is written on the inside door of the ladies’ bathroom stall
The last time I was reminded of rejection, I was fully clothed in the kitchen
Stuffing leftover lasagne into my cheeks for the journey home (to my room upstairs)
It’s different with your knickers around your ankles, innit?
It reminds you that everything that comes from you is warm, at first
Eyes darting from ‘unwanted’ to ‘alive’
Cheer up bitch, you could be wanted and dead
I’d like to add, but it’s not my poem to interfere with
Next to this is a tampon advert, for a quid you can bleed quietly
There’s a massive queue outside of women waiting to come across this sentence
I stare at the message for longer than is necessary, because of him
It wasn’t love, just a chemical reaction to a fake smile on a real mouth
You see, my loose heart yearned for something secretive to hold
The steady ground or his shoulders
Either one connected it to the soil of the earth
Five days later in a Debenhams toilet, my face still smells of his mouth
His breath reeks from my bottom lip
I cut my fingernails as a way of letting go
Yah know, the only thing that kept him inside me was gravity
A brief journey of him coming without taking me anywhere
In the end, love is just thrusting towards trust
His sharp irregular breath on my collarbone, wheezing like
A dirty old man running away from something old
or not catching up to something new
Now I’m unwanted and he’s still alive